Dragon Age AU: The Moon, Sun and Stars Above
by N7PhoenixFox
Summary: An AU where Solas did, in fact, manage to tear down the veil but it did not go as he intended and instead tore holes through time. Sent into the past, a time where Arlathan still stood, the last remaining members of the resistance must endure, eventually to face down the Gods and the trickster Fen'Harel who set it all in motion. - ON HOLD FOR NOW -
1. Chapter 1

The Moon, Sun and Stars Above | Prologue and Chapter 1

It ended on a battlefield.

Not in a blaze of glory, as many warriors strove for. Not like the story of the Emerald Knights; the poems which she had memorised. No, that was not how it came to be for her. It came by the hand of her love as he tore down the veil holding the world together in order to raise a kingdom which had already fallen.

By his hand, no less. Centuries before.

Half a decade she had fought him. Tooth and nail. She recalled a time she had believed he could be saved. Foolish enough to think her love for him could stay his hand. That they could be together in the world which existed then, not thousands of years ago.

He'd had an army of converts on his side. Her people, elves, who knew no better. Most were already lost or broken, and he collected them under his banner while he strived to commit a crime she could not overlook.

Months after the Inquisition had disbanded, and the Inquisitor had left for Fereldan with Commander Cullen in order to live a quiet life, for a short while - it had been her job to look for Solas.

There had been many phases to her then. Times when she was so eager to just...find him that she could barely sit still. The healers had diagnosed her with something the soldiers called post traumatic stress. Other times she could barely find the energy to eat, and couldn't be near people for fear they would try to kill her, hurt her.

After six long months of that; she had been told by her comrades that she needed to sort herself out, and so she travelled to Kirkwall. To the house Phoenix would never use but had gifted her instead. Varric had become the Viscount, and she had taken to Hawke during her time at Skyhold. Blood Mage, or no.

It was there that she had taken the time to heal, as best she could. Fenris Leto had assisted in further training her with a blade, and was competent in training a Mage to use something other than a staff - Hawke herself had a mean staff which was more or less a two handed slim sword. He had sneered at times, still haven't an adversary against all things magic, even despite the lyrium inside his own veins.

As her dreaming came back to her, instead of night terrors which would leave her sweat soaked, he was waiting. She didn't know whether it was a blessing. The sight of him...even then it had caused much pain.

Sometime later, when the group they had put together to combat the Elves who were being taken for a cause they perhaps didn't understand, she had met him again. In the flesh. Solas would not listen. No matter what she said, or how many of their past friends fell to his plans.

He would come to her as a dark wolf in her dreams. A cowards way. At first, in the early days before her trip to Kirkwall, she had run to him, and he had always disappeared. Then when the first of their companions died facing down his army, she would throw things at him and shout till it felt as if her throat would bleed.

Eventually she stopped looking at him at all. The pure agony would burn her inside, simmering to the point where she believed it would mark the fade forever in an echo.

How dare he come to her, take comfort from finding her in the dreaming when in the real world he was causing so much pain, so much suffering. The blood of the ones she cared were on his hands, along with many others.

The elves had rebelled, and though she had tried to be a shepherd for many: to keep them from joining her lovers cause, it had not been enough to stop the slaughter. City elves and Dalish alike. In the end she had no longer seen them as any different, they were all of the same blood and they were facing the death of all they knew.

Alienage's and forests where Avavels were camped were torched and burnt to the ground. Then the humans realised they were facing another enemy, one far stronger than the poor people they trapped and murdered in their homes. They'd only then turned their attentions away. By then it was too late.

She would crouch, and hide her face in her fisted, white knuckled hands. Keeping her eyes closed to the fade, and the wolf who awaited her.

The man she had known might have been in there, at some point. Might have still been in there, trapped beneath the mantle of a dead wolfs head but she couldn't...couldn't do it anymore. She had lost everything trying to save him.

Orophin was a Mage, had trained as a Necromancer, but she rarely used the gift, or curse. Instead she used blades, preferring to put herself in harms way than others.

Her ability to contact spirits through her Necromancy had been the pull which had brought them together, in the rotunda of Skyhold - a place which had been his all along. Now she wished she could fade to black when her eyes closed. She wished for the nothingness of dead-like sleep. Those murals haunted her. As did the lifeless corpses of all who had given theirs lives, willingly or not.

Orophin wanted to remember the people she'd lost in life, not how they'd looked in death but she couldn't, not being surrounded by it. There was no rest-bite for her thoughts, dreaming or awake.

They fought within a toppled forest, beneath an Elven ruin which rose from its own debris. A skeleton of stone and bone. At one time she would have looked on it with wonder, now she wanted to rip it down piece by piece with her bare hands.

"Focus," the former inquisitors voice echoed to her.

Her storm filled white eyes, flickered by silver and grey and rimmed by dark green snapped to the only person she had left in the world.

All except the wolf.

The only other surviver of clan Lavellan threw her arm forward, slicing the enemies with her arcane blade - a golden beam which cut though the red mist that surrounded them. She couldn't tell whether the air was stained through the clay at their feet, beneath the wild grass, magic or the amount of blood which had been spilled upon the land.

Orophin's eyes caught the stump of her friends left arm. Her former lover had taken that too, along with her husband. Phoenix had been inconsolable at Cullen's death, but had lingered to keep Orophin for perishing herself. Pain so intense at her failure to keep anyone safe lashed at her insides, and twisted her face.

It stole her breath as sure as any blade. Cut at her till she was raw. Till the panic threatened to push her over the knifes edge to madness.

Her shield dropped to her side, and she let her sword dangle in her grip. The blue flamed tip brushed the ground and she didn't know if she had the strength to lift it.

The pain, yes, the pain was immense.

"Don't you do this," Phoenix commanded, as she burnt an elf in golden armour to crisp before turning honeyed eyes upon her. Orophin winced: both at her friends expression, and the similarities of her eye colour to those of the ancient People.

"You keep fighting," her friends voice wavered, and she ended up shouting towards the end. Both their emotions were fried, no longer capable of functioning properly. Orophin flinched, but came back to herself in time to turn and block a hit.

All they had left was to fight to the bitter end. The others deserved no less for they had died to ensure they lived on and stopped Solas' mad plan.

Orophin had not used her powers to raise the bodies of her friends, her loved ones - she would not do that. They deserved to rest. There was no humour in making them continue the fight like puppets on strings. It was sickening.

A sword slipped past her guard and lodged itself beneath her ruined armour at the shoulder. She hissed out a breath, and stumbled. Pushing the enemy back with her shield, the blade came free with a rush of blood and she slashed her blue flamed sword across the hooded beings chest.

Ancient elves who had risen to help the him. Those who had awoken from slumber with a vengeance to find what had been lost to them.

All their efforts came to an end in but a moment.

She knew, knew as soon as the air crackled, and changed around them. Her lungs burned for breath as if they'd been tipped under water.

A shockwave rippled from inside the ruin. It burst from the top and washed down over the field. Magic burst in the back of her throat like copper, and her ears rang.

It signalled that Solas had succeeded in his plan, and that their world would die in ashes for a new one to rip from it.

Phoenix came up beside her as a wave of the destroyed veil whipped passed them. The air after it was unnaturally still, the calm before the storm.

A short second later the inquisitors magic flattered and the earth shook.

Her knees hit the dirt, and her blood thundered in her skull. It was the end. She almost couldn't believe it, a small part of her had held out even till the last seconds that he could do it. But then, she had to have known all along, she just didn't want to admit it to her stupid heart which ached and called for him.

Orophin had wondered, when the panic was too much and she could do nothing but clutch at her head; if caring for him meant she was also a monster?

They were all doomed because of her inability to act.

Phoenix cried out in her pulsing ear but she could not rise, could not lift her sword arm which had fallen limp and allowed the blade she'd carried from the start, even when the metal had shattered leaving behind half of it, to drop to the red dirt between the grass.

A light caught a gleam above, and she wondered if she would be struck down. There was a flash, and the ones surrounding her were turned to stone.

Her blood shuddered. She knew that awful power.

The smoke parted ahead, and from the ruined pillars came the man who she no longer recognised. It tore her apart inside. Her treacherous feelings still called for her to care for him, even when her mind repelled it.

Her eyes flickered over him. He wore the same golden armour of his People. The fur he draped across his shoulder was tattered, and black in places from blood new and old. His face was bloodied, and bruised.

Blue eyes which had once captivated her so sought her out among the statues he had made. She wanted to close her eyes against meeting his gaze, to press her face to the dirt and weep.

But she couldn't.

When he finally found her, she watched his face twist in a mix of emotions so overwhelming, even she could not understand it. His polite mask had fallen, shattered upon the floor like glass.

She couldn't look at him any longer.

Her face turned to her friend, and she sucked in a quick breath. With her magic flaring, the enemy tried capture her with their metal covered hands. The former inquisitor fought with a blade she'd picked up from the dead, as she attempted to keep her footing while cracks slithered their way closer.

Fury so deep it popped her ears rushed through her, and she rammed her blade into the ground to stand.

There was a roar.

Solas shifted in the corner of her eye.

She had seen the wolf before in the dreaming, but never in the waking world.

Was it because there was now no barrier between them? Her eyes widened sharply when she found his pelt was darker than she'd ever seen it, like black oil and the body of it was huge. Several lines of liquid red eyes rolled to stare at her.

The Dread Wolf.

He had become truly what his name had entailed then.

The forest floor beneath her feet finally split, and she looked to see the enemy release the inquisitor to regain their balance. Some fell into the fresh holes, their yells drowned out by the awful noise of the ground churning.

The Dread wolf made for her and horror caught in her throat and stole her breath.

No, she would not let him take her.

Death would be her choosing.

Her sword and shield clattered from her tired hands as she ran. The wolf weaved through the stone bodies but even with his ancient power, he would not reach her on time.

The dread wolf pumped it's legs, and launched towards her as she skidded to the side of the large body. It flew past her, and tried desperately to correct itself when it landed.

A strange sort of victory burst through her as she threw herself from the ledge, and landed on the separate piece of earth where the inquisitor hung by her finger nails after it had broke out from under her.

Orophin skidded on her front, and wrapped her fingers tight around her friends wrist just as she was about to fall to the darkness below.

Phoenix looked up as her weight gradually began to pull her over also. "If we die," her voice was rough from the mist, and the constant scent of death. "Then we go together."

A pang of emotion shot across her friends expression; agony, torture and regret but then became cold calm as they realised it had all come to an end. They had failed, but they could go now, to see the souls of those they loved.

Even if the grand Kingdom of Arlathan was reborn, they had no part in it. Wanted no part in it. They could not live without the people who had passed.

The inquisitor, her fiend and Lethallan, nodded, just as Orophin tipped completely off the edge.

A roar reverberated over them, but she closed her eyes to it.

It was too late.

They tumbled together, their bodies danced through the air as they spun, spiralled and plummeted below the earth.

She waited for the impending ground to meet them, the impact and then nothing.

When the two hit the hard surface of water instead, it jerked her grip on Phoenix. She sucked in a ragged breath and opened her eyes.

An imagine came to her, a dark pool which shone blue from the moonlight above as her body floated, suspended.

Red ghosted around them, seeping like ink from their skin into the darkness.

A flash of white light so bright it scorched her eyes, and a force which threatened to crack her bones came to hit her from all sides. The pressure became too much too soon, and she threw her head back to scream.

There was impact then.

Shock smothered her, and it took a few long seconds to remember that her lungs were full of water. It came out of her mouth in a rush, half bile and a half coughing fit. Feeling returned, firstly of something hard greeting her face as she lay on her front, her limbs like dead weight at her sides.

More light assaulted her crusted eye lids. When her visioned cleared enough for her to even attempt to open them, she saw the grey of smooth stone stretched out towards a lone tree.

A tree which was far larger and taller than she had ever seen. It's bark was a rich brown with glowing runes etched into its surface. Lanterns hung from the lowest branches which she had to strain to see. Thick roots of twisted bark and moss ran into the stone slaps.

The world was too bright. It felt wrong. Sickness hit her like a punch to the gut and her head spun.

It came to her then. A terrible feelings which only grew the more she thought on it. Her teeth gnashed harshly, and she struggled to breath.

Had they been brought back to the days of old?

To the glory Solas could not forget?

Movement wavered around her. She sensed it, and her body tensed exponentially. Desire to tear at her skin and hair lashed at her. The thought of her surviving, to come out the other end was unbearable.

Something touched her sluggish, numb body and rolled her over onto her back. When an elf hovered above her, she knew her fears to be true.

The woman was ethereal. Golden locks of hair framed a perfect face and fell to her hips. The dress of the woman was so intensely white that it hurt to look at and she felt more bile claw its way up her searing throat.

Others came closer. Orophin tried to get away, tears burning at the corner of her eyes as she somehow managed to fall back onto her front. When her arms refused to work, a dry cry broke from her lips.

Any progress she would have made was haltered by a hand on her shoulder, which ultimately pinned her body to the ground. Her mouth opened again, another silent cry as nothing more than a whisper came out.

They were speaking. A musical and fluid language much like the Dalish, but almost completely different. Tears broke from her sore and blood shot eyes.

Not the same. More beautiful, but far worse.

How much more could she take?

The woman's voice was high in tone, and it grated on her nerves. Lavellan recognised a word. Helani.

Help. Help? Who would they help? No, she didn't want that.

She wanted...damn it, she never wanted this! This wasn't how it was meant to be!

Her body gave out, as did her mind.

...

Important update:

I was not really happy with the way the first three chapter I uploaded went. I apologise for any annoyance caused by constant changes, but hopefully it will be for the better.

This first chapter is spell checked, as some of my mistakes were pretty noticeable.

I was not sure where I was going with this, when I started it, but now I've had time to re-evaluate and am curtain I can do better.

Thank you for your patience, and support.

Especially Levinixx - who's kind words were a light in a dark time for myself. Thank you for seeing value in my writing.

The structure of the first three chapters will stay the same, but they will be far more detailed and not as rushed.


	2. Chapter 2

So firstly, to clear some things up:

I'll be mostly calling Oro by her name, and Phoenix by Lavellan or inquisitor. For the sake of having both of them; my first Lavellan will be the inquisitor, and Oro my second Lavellan will be someone who helped along the way.

Hope that helps. I confuse myself with all the she/her - especially when they speak together. It's something I'm working to improve though.

Listened to 'Ain't nobody' - Chase and Status and Clare Maguire while writing this if anyone in interested in background music.

Reminds me of the Solas romance ~ Ain't nobody can love me like you can.

( )

The Moon, Sun and Stars Above | Chp. 2

Darkness.

She was floating in it. Like the water from before. She couldn't see, or hear but it felt that it had in that blue pool of moonlight and endless deep.

There was no sense of time. It could have been minutes, or longer that she was covered by the thick blanket of impenetrable nothingness.

Her limbs refused to move. Like rocks had been placed over her body. It was an odd sensation, for ones body not to respond to the commands of the brain. There were no thoughts of war, however, and that was a relative peace which kept her suspended within the space.

When she heard the lyrical hum of voices, and caught the edge of a piece of light in the distance. She hesitated to follow it. Not for fear of where it might lead, but for the pain which awaited her when she was awake and held prisoner by reality.

Perhaps it would be far kinder to drift.

The voices were insistent though. They refused to let her fade, and she found herself frustrated with whoever it was.

Eventually she lost her patience, and headed in the direction of the noise. It was like pulling herself through quick mud with thought alone. A very odd sensation, like a bone which had set wrong or when you were younger and your teeth twisted before they came out.

Feeling flooded over her again, as it had when she'd awoken from the fall.

The fall...

Her breathing remained slow as her senses returned and she was able to feel something hard and flat beneath her. Though her blood pumped wildly in her veins, she kept calm and recalled her training. She didn't want to alert anyone that she was conscious, not until she had discovered more about her surroundings through listening.

The air smelt thick with fragrances she couldn't put her finger on but somehow reminded her of the healers hut in Redcliff or apothecary Adan in Haven. It filled her lungs with each intake, and made her head spin slightly.

So, they had sent her to a healer? Or perhaps they believed she was dead? In the end, she had been wounded and had not cared to heal with the little healing spells she knew.

In the end, she had learnt a greatly distaste for magic.

Oro tensed her arms a little, testing to see if she was bound. She was not, but her limbs were still slow to act.

That wasn't good. Could they have given her something which caused her to slumber so deep, and for her body to be sluggish?

Her heart sped up, and then she had to make a conscious effort to keep her frame still as if sleeping peacefully. It took a few minutes of concentration but it payed off.

Oro felt someone enter the room. A tiny breeze and shift of fabrics. The click of shoes against floor. That someone moved further into the room and a conversation struck up with whoever had already been inside.

Her fingers pushed slightly into the slab beneath her. During her time with the Inquisiton, when they had come across the writing in the Temple of Mythal, herself and Phoenix had not been able to read of the well of sorrows. The wild witch Morrigan had even known more than them.

After that, the two of them had done their up most to learn. During the years of the war, they had picked it up better than any book or loose study could have allowed.

When she had been younger; a difficult child who possessed magic but fought to become a hunter like her friend and father, the keeper had given her a leather bound book. A tree had been etched onto the worn leather, a matching design to Mythal in a way. During the clans journeys - she would sketch old ruins the Keeper said had once belonged to their people. She'd even drawn words hidden in stone that she believed to be the old language, as if some day she or Phoenix, the clans first, could translate it.

The book had been lost years ago when the slavers had swooped in that night.

It was silly of her to keep it in the first place. Phoenix had been the first, it was her duty to keep the Lore. Oro had chosen the way of the hunter. She had resigned herself to that, at one point and actually thrown the book down in anger. It was lucky that Phoenix had been the one to come across it, and that had been the start of their relationship as before they had rarely spoken.

Then there had been Solas. She had gone to the man she respected and valued, and asked of him to teach her. He had learnt very early on that she enjoyed languages, having Bull and Dorian, even Varric teach her the words of their lands and culture.

Solas had seemed pleased that she wanted to learn. It had brought them closer to common ground. While they both owned some magical skill, she had not been open with hers as Phoenix had. The inquisitor wanting to learn more, to have better control over her powers.

Solas had been excited about magical studies, anyone could have seen that. It had put Oro of speaking to him, in the beginning. He had seemed so above her, in his attitude and manner of speech. Her curiosity over his knowledge of spirits, not magic, not finally drawn them away from the awkward politeness of people who did not know each other well.

She wasn't sure if any of it had been true. He had seemed to care for her, at one point despite her lack of flare for magic. Whether he couldn't wait to remove the Vallaslin from her face or clung to her for fear of being alone...she couldn't know those answers. Not anymore.

Her throat worked, and she had to tear that line of thoughts down before she gave herself away.

Solas, in his travels, had visited ruins much like the Temple of Mythal, and had awoken ancient elves like the Sentinels. They'd spend three hard years locked in violent battles with them. She had used her knowledge of the language then, a sort of small victory against her lover. He had taught her, and she would use it to listen in and discover plans while the ancient elves thought them ignorant.

It had worked, for a time. They had learned soon enough that she was able to understand some of what they said however, when their leader informed them. The woman who had grown close to the Dread Wolf would of course know some, they would say.

There must have been a reason one of their People would show any interest in one of the elves who's blood was diluted, a shadow of their former selves.

Oro pushed her memories away in favour of actually trying to pick up on what the two were saying. They spoke faster than she expected, and it was hard to catch it all, like golden threads slipping through her fingers.

They had greeted one another, from what she could tell of it but then it shifted to her.

"What have you learnt, healer?" It was a males voice who asked the question. A deeper tone.

Keep calm.

Breathe even.

Don't let them know.

"A mystery," a woman's voice answered. "The body is injured in many places, and burnt. A few open wounds, one quite substantial in its shoulder. The most shocking are the lines of scars which mar it's skin - there are crisscrosses upon its back, white lines at its wrists and deep gashes on its neck."

'It'

That didn't surprise her. The ancient elves in her own world had taken to using it. She wondered if Solas had known that nugget of information.

The elves had cursed him for destroying their kingdom in the first place but he was the only one who could raise it again, and thus they had to work with him.

That must have irked.

"Why did it not just heal itself? Some of the wounds were old, yes? That is very strange. Perhaps it ran out of mana energy to do so, if it is not very talented. And scars? It must be a run away then."

"It is odd," the healer agreed. "I wondered that myself and so I checked. Laid the stones out upon her skin to find she holds little to no magical ability, or if she does, it is hidden or buried deep."

What?

Despite her distaste for magic in the last coming years, she had still processed enough of it to be successfully considered a necromancer and blizzard elemental.

"That's impossible. The stones would have detected it, even in a Lower," the man rushed.

She got the impression the healer was nodding to everything he said. "There is more. She has no Connection passed its self. I do not know whether it is a lack of magic which causes this, or if it is broken."

The man stilled. "That is...unsettling."

"The spirits however," and the healers tone made her thing this was the worse or the news. "They call to her. I do not know how, but the ones I have consulted assure me that they could find her in the Dreaming."

"For one who lacks a Connection, it is something that the spirits are able to find it during its slumber." The man appeared to be pondering.

"I have never seen anything like it, in all my time as a healer," the woman sounded aggrieved again.

There was a short silence. "What else can you tell me? I will speak with the Spirits on this."

"I healed it as best I could without knowing what actually, it is. It shares many similarities to the females of the People, though I can not be sure. I do not know if it will wake however, it minds seemed fractured when the Spirits assisted me. They assure me that it is alive, however."

"Be watchful of it, Healer." The man instructed. "Give it some Herbs to keep it subdued if indeed, if it does wake-"

She sucked in a breath, and she sensed the two rooms inhabitants turn their gaze to her in an instant. They did intend to drug her, if they hadn't already.

"Is it conscious?" The man raised his voice, aghast.

"Quickly," the healer started to collect things from the sounds of objects clinking together. "I must administer the Herbs."

Oro launched up off the surface. Her eyes snapped open, blurred a second and then cleared to reveal the two. A small healer woman, sun tanned skin, brown hair and green markings. A tall man with dark hair who wore silver, and dark blue robes. They both looked startled, as if she'd just grown a second head.

She threw herself from the table. What remained of her armour protested, and felt heavier than it ever had. Her legs almost gave out and she fell back against the slab of hard wood. Oro looked around frantically to see an exit to her left.

The healer was trying to come towards her, one hand raised and the other holding a tool she didn't recognise and didn't want to get a accustomed with.

"Stay away from me," she gritted out in their language, her accent broken and rough.

The healer jumped at the sound, and the man seemed to recover himself. His palms began to glow blue, and she looked from them to his face, then took off towards the door.

Oro grasped the ivory handle, and slammed her shoulder into it. She burst out into a hallway, her mind working over time.

Just as she decided to go left, something sharp hit her in the pack of the neck. Copper burst at the back of her throat and she knew it was magic.

As her body tumbled forward, Oro expected to crack her head of the gleaming floor below. Something wrapped his self around her body however, and her decent slowed as if she were stuck in thick smoke and spiders webs.

More magic. It prickled along her skin, and made her eyes water as they closed and she was forced back into the abyss.

...

The second time she woke, it was by no aid of voices or light. She came to herself as if she'd just woken from a long sleep inside one of the inquisitions tents.

A bitter sweet memory. The sound of the sea as they camped above the churning mass of deep blue and mossy green below. A sea breeze as it blew in through the tent flap as she readied her boots upon her sleeping pallet.

She shook the memory free. Why were they coming to her in such clarity? Was it a side effect to being in a place where the veil was weaved into everything?

Her eyes opened with little to no resistance, which immediately rang alarm bells in her head when her situation came rushing back. They had drugged her, and used magic to knock her out.

For how long? She didn't know. To what affect? Not that either.

The worst part of coming back to herself was looking down to check her person, then around to discover she was in a golden cage. Her back was pressed to a wall which had veins growing up in, and there was more stone slaps beneath her legs.

The cage was within a circular room which had a small groove carved out across it filled with water. She didn't pretend to know what it was for.

Her cage was to the side of the room, and closed in around the wall leaving at least two lengths of her to move around in.

Oro pulled herself over to the nearest side with her arms, and proceeded to reach out. Her hand stopped half way, and her instincts kicked in. Touching the gleaming gold metal which seemed to be more liquid than anything and yet hold its form might not have been the wisest thing.

No matter what panic filled her with being bound, and locked away, she could not forget herself. She had been raised a hunter and knew far better than to act blindly and without caution. The lead hunter would have scolded her for such rash actions.

As would her father.

So she pulled herself back into a sitting position, and looked herself over once more. What remained of her armour from before was still there, and on inspection of her injuries, found them to be healing. The stab wound in her shoulder was raw but sealed, it ached and itched when she moved her arm too much, and settled into a string when she stilled.

Patches of red mist still clung to her, as sand did after a storm in the wastelands. The water seemed rather appealing then - to cleanse the grit from the battle which should have been the end. The cage wouldn't allow her to reach it however, and she wasn't about to dunk her skin in it even if she could.

Trust nothing, and no one. If there was one thing her love had taught her, that was it - whether he had wanted to or not.

The Ancient elves could rot.

Even the room she was in seemed overly done, and it only held a prison. It made things seem less real, and it still made her eyes and head hurt to look at.

As her mind cleared and she focused on her training to keep the panicking from smothering her, she remembered like a jolt of lightening that Phoenix had also fallen into the endless pool.

Her friend, her clans men - had she made it through also? They had been torn apart on entering the waters surface. Had that meant she landed somewhere else? Oro leaned forward and put her face in her hands. She could be out there somewhere, in the wilds or even worse a place.

Too many emotions filled her, and she had never been one to handle them before the end of the world. Fingers covered in blood and dirt clutched at her hair and pulled, feeling the tug at the roots and skull only distracted her somewhat.

There was a bang. A door, and she jumped up. Dragging herself along the wall, she used it to support her back as her hands wrapped around the vines. She'd been laid on them for Maker knows how long, if they were poisonous then she hoped they were the fast acting ones, and not the agonising slow death ones.

A man and a woman entered, wearing gleaming gold armour which resembled trees and leaves. She didn't know how, but she somehow could tell them apart and guessed they were guards. Their helms covered most their faces but the man had orange hair like fire, and the woman a rusty red.

Their faces. They were Mythal's. She'd been too preoccupied before to even take notice of the lines on the others faces. After spending years among Dalish and City elves alike, she had almost stopped looking at them.

When she had first entered the domed room which held references to Fen'Harel removing the Vallaslin from the faces of Elvhen people, she had been hurt. Believing her face to just be another that he had cleansed the slave markings from. Her own choice had been to remove them, at the time, as she had hated the idea of being bound again but then...when she had thought about it. The Dalish had made it their own, and what they had, wrong or not was worth keeping. A symbol of what they had come through since Tevinter and the exhaled march.

When it came down to fighting together, she hadn't cared if they had worn any or not. Elves, humans, dwarves, or Qunari - it hadn't mattered. They were all battling to keep their world.

The man who had nailed her with a spell before had markings much the same as her own used to be, and it seemed popular among them as both the man and woman shared the same, if with slight variation and colour. The spell caster had had deep lines of blue that had almost been black. The male guards were grey against his orange eyes, and the females were a yellow colour in contrast with blue eyes.

Her own had been golden. She remembered the day as if it hadn't been more than ten years ago. Her first love had collected the ingredients which would make the paint colour. The keeper had not been sure of it, but she'd always imagined them to be gold.

Then they had been caught by the slavers and...

Saliva caught in her throat, and made a sound which escaped her throat. The guards looked to one another before the man stepped forward and gestured to one of the bars. She watched, tensing, as a door opened within the structure.

"Come with us," he said, in elvish as he stood in the newly opened pathway.

She breathed hard. The woman seemingly had no patience as she moved forward to stand by her fellow and made a motion with her hand.

Oro felt the air crackle with magic. It reminded her of the lightening element Dorian and Hawke had specialised in. She'd spent enough time around them to recognise it.

A golden rope latched itself around her wrists and pulled them taunt. The length of it ran to the air around the woman's person. She could control it without even having to touch it. Oro hissed, and tried to pull away but to no avail. She could not win against the spell with sheer physical force.

"It was not a request," the woman uttered, sharply, as if she detested even having to speak to her. As if it was a waste.

Oro was forced forward. She'd been in chains before, and knew the more one fought, the tighter and more painful it became. So she ground her teeth, and shifted her booted feet forward.

The rope lessened in size as she stepped over the boundary of the cage, careful not to touch the bars which even the guards hadn't. The woman turned on her heels, and started away with the rope in tow. The man remained at her back, his hand rested upon a sword which hung at his hip, should she get any ideas and try to attack them.

They lead her from the circular stone room to a darkened hallway. Oro thought a moment, and then realised that she had been seeing the night sky from the holes in the walls. With the room being so bright, it had overshadowed the fact that it was night.

They lead her up a set of stairs, and along passage ways that were lined with tapestries and golden framed paintings which seemed to come alive and move on their own the layers were so thick. Small orbs of light illuminated sections, and seemed to act independently from a Mage.

She tried not to linger too long looking at them, or the paintings. It unnerved her, and severed to remind her rebellious brain of the impossible situation she was in. The darkened areas were better, she could almost feel as if she wasn't bound and trapped in a kingdom she wanted nothing to do with.

They made it to a walkway which was lined by a wall to the right, there were holes in the shapes of patterns throughout it and through it, she could see a large hall where there were people waiting.

Her tongue felt too large for her mouth as they hurried through a doorway within the patterned wall, and stepped out into the grand hall. There were pillars keeping the roof up, or perhaps magic did that, but the floor beneath her mud covered feet was polished white, and had golden and blue veins running through it.

The cluster of people were collected around a throne like chair or white smooth stone, which was raised upon three steps. Each person seemed to stand upon a certain one, and either look up or down. It was amazing the things she'd learnt from Josephine about social standing, to the point that she recognised it even in another, once had been dead culture.

They all turned to look at her as she entered, and she was torn between keeping her eyes away or making sure her chin raised high. It was a tough choice, one which might get her killed as quickly as a drunk playing the Game. She did the best of both: glancing at the pale and long faces briefly to see Mythal's markings on most. A few she couldn't see, or were hidden under hoods.

The spell caster from the healers room was among them. He was in the thick of it, surrounded by many of the men and woman. He wore dark blue robes which were almost black like his markings, and a golden sash was thrown over his chest. His expression was cool, and calculation to say the least.

Overall, they were noble through and through. That did not seem to change throughout the centuries. People in power remained always the same.

The guards lead her to a space marked just below the last step, a few metres from the cluster of rich fabrics and waste length hair. That seemed to be a fashion. Her own was cut in jagged lines and fell about her face and neck in wild uneven dark stands and both sides of her head were shaved.

The female guard attached the end of the rope to a fisher in the floor with a wave of her hand. The two bowed their heads to the rabble, then gracefully moved to either side of her to stand watch.

Another man broke out among the collection, and the others seemed to move back to allow him to be the centre of the proceedings. Most of her face was hidden being hair and grime, which meant she felt comfortable staring at him through harsh eyes.

His hair was a silvered grey colour, and yet he seemed no older than the others. It was in the elvhen blood then, to have such coloured hair. Phoenix's blonde sometimes looked lighter than it was, and Warden Mahariel's had been pure white.

No, she couldn't think of that now.

His markings were a lighter blue colour, like the sky on a cloudless day and his eyes were a sharp colour which was almost black. Robes of silver and gold fell from his shoulders with hints of red in places.

All the ancient People were far taller than the elves of her time. Just another aspect with deemed them as lesser.

There were still murmurs from the others, and so the man raised his hand and asked for quiet. The crowd slowly simmered to silence, before the man dropped his hand and looked to her.

He looked as if he'd tasted something sour. An expression she'd seen far too many times on ones like him.

"As our leader, Mythal, is away during this time. It falls to us, her council to deal with the matter of...this."

She was 'this'.

"I say get rid of it," one woman hissed, behind a hand which she held to her mouth as if in fright. If she imaged hard enough, she could almost see the woman at court, playing the grand Game with the way she acted. Hiding behind a mask and fan.

Oro watched as others began to shout out their ideas.

"It dares enter this place of Mythal's? Send it to Anduil to hunt! It is bare faced and has no place here." A few people hummed in agreement.

Then the questions came.

"It is broken, is it not?"

She looked over to see the healer from before was close by, and nodded to that.

"Where did it come from?"

"It's horrifying. Look, does it even have emotion?"

She was getting angrier by the second. They didn't even intend to let her speak her piece. It wasn't a trail, they were condemning her. Even the worse who had come to Skyhold to be judged by the Inquisitor had been allowed to defend themselves.

The culture of the People seemed far more barbaric then that of the Dalish. Solas had fought against them in the end, and yet he still had wanted to raise them high again?

Thinking on it was useless. She could be mad at what the Elvhen were for the rest of her days but it would not erase the fact that Solas had wanted to correct a mistake by making another.

Her elders in the Clan had often said 'two wrongs do not make a right' - often in the context of killing Shemlen who wanted to brandish fiery pitchforks.

"Of course they feel," came a voice which resonated with something familiar.

Her eyes widened and she searched for the source. A pale body flew down from between the crowd and came to hover in front of her.

It almost looked like one of those corrupted wisps which had come through the rifts, but different. Whole. Even the Spirits of the old elvhen libraries had been red and cracked, bones shone through them as if to echo those who had been lost.

Every spirit she had come across had appeared to be missing something. Even those small ones she called upon during battle.

"Spirit," her voice was rough, but she managed to pronounce it in the ancient language.

The woman who had suggested she be disposed off squeaked - a ear shattering sound when it came from the lyrical voices of the People. She flinched slightly, but kept her gaze on the humanoid like shape before her.

It's body seemed to move constantly within the shape of a torso. Smooth waves of green. It was oddly calming to look at.

"They called you the sorrow of the people," it said, and it looked to be contemplating what it had learnt from her head. "A avatar of...no, not the People. Your people. Travellers and city dwellers."

Her eyes narrowed. How had it known? How much could it see? Cole had been able to listen when he was called. Oro had made sure no other spirits could get in her thoughts when she called upon them.

The spirit vibrated, and she got the sense it was a nod. "You did call to me. Your inner self did. We are the same. I am Sorrow."

Her face scrunched more.

"What is it you speak of, Spirit?" The caller from before spoke up, looking slightly annoyed at the spirits appearance.

The Spirit didn't turn to look at him. "She has a name. She feels. She is a person."

"Surely not!" Someone gasped.

"There is much pain you in," the Spirit continued. "Deep, and raw. You think of your friend Compassion. You wonder if he would be able to take it from you. Make you forget."

"Stop," she gritted out, her tone thick and her face twisted. It was painful.

"Forgive me," the Spirit intoned, as it hung in the air. "I can feel it."

The speaker drowned out the spirit then. "It seems it can speak our language." The silver haired man viewed her with thinly veiled contempt.

"Spirit, if you would, we would like to discuss some things with you while we think over this development." The speaker turned to the healer. "Perhaps you can see to it again, now that it can communicate."

Oro was too worn down to argue. If she started shouting then, she doubted the elf would hear it. She couldn't understand the way their minds worked but she knew they were more tranquil in her eyes than her people had been. Solas had once used that example, and having seen his People, she thought he was wrong.

The healer bowed her head respectfully. "Of course,"

"Very good," he gestured to the guards. "Take it-"

The spirit whizzed through the air and to the man's front. She hadn't imagined a spirit of sorrow to be able to move so fast. "No, you can not put her back in that room. It's not fit, not fit at all."

Oro's eyes were constantly narrowed. It was strange, hearing the spirit of sorrow speak in a monotone voice, and yet plea for her as if it were compassion. She supposed it did what it did because of their shared feelings - perhaps it understood more than most.

The speaker sighed dramatically. Yes, defiantly like the courts in some ways.

"Very well," he let up. They must have respected the opinions of the spirits, to have them around so much. She knew Solas had kept council with many: Wisdom being a dear friend. Before it had been stripped of its original purpose and turned into a demon by foolish mages fleeing the conflicts.

Both herself and Phoenix had been present when Solas had sent the three of them up in flames for their deeds. Neither had stopped him.

"Take it to a room on the east wing. Secure it with runes."

The woman took up her rope again, and Oro reluctantly dragged her feet. Again, she should have fought for her cause, should have railed at them to let her free but she felt as if it were useless. They wouldn't listen, no more than any nobles would listen to a flat ear or knife ear. She'd have to figure it out herself.

Until she worked a few things out in her head, she couldn't be sure what to say to them anyway.

She couldn't tell the truth. That was the only thing she knew for certain. In centuries time, you will no longer exist? Your world, your buildings, your culture will fall all because of one of your own...

Wait, if she was here...did that mean Solas was also? Had he managed to come through after her? Or was his younger self around somewhere? Planning the rebellion, even now?

Her heart thumped deeply in her chest with the revelation. How had it not come to her sooner? She shook her head. The cold fingers of war still clung to her, clouding her judgement and rational mind.

It had been so long since she could remember what not fearing for her life, for those around her, felt like.

They lead her through more of the stone building but she kept her eyes on her feet, her shoulders tense.

There was a time when she had thought of Arlathan as any of her people had - a time they had lost, and would strive to get some semblance of again.

Solas had let her know they'd been wrong about all of it.

Oro had once been a slave - she thought she had escaped it, but he had told her that the Vallaslin she wore was just another sign of slavery. It had crushed her. A part of her history which had once been a comfort...in her haste, she had asked him to remove them.

Now she just wanted to be rid of it all.

When they reached a corridor of doors, she was shoved into one after the man opened it. The rope dissipated, and she turned, but it had already been slammed in her face. She tried to handle, it didn't work, and then she cracked her fist onto the strange petrified wood door.

The room was grand - but somehow she knew it was minimal for them. A small bed with a cover of mixed grey silks. Etched wooden furniture from a desk, to the underside of the bed and wardrobe. There was even a small basen which she imagined held water - unless they drank magic here, she wouldn't put it past them.

Oro had so many volatile emotions flowing through her that she was rooted on the spot. Not sure whether to punch the wall, destroy the room or scream till there was no air left in her lungs.

It could have been minutes, even hours, as she stood by the exit. Expecting the healers to come and prod at her again. To ask her questions, or whatever it was they thought they'd get from her now they knew she could understand them - or they could understand her.

Through all the haze of memories, fresh thoughts of what suffering lay in the future, she thought of her friend.

Phoenix. If she had come through, then she needed to find her. The best way to do that? She didn't know yet, but what she did know is that she couldn't let the ancient elves keep her here.

Eventually she moved, went to the wall where she propped up her back and slid her boots and armour from her feet and legs.

Covered in the ash of her world and blood of the enemy, which she was now surrounded with in another time, she leant her head back and closed her eyes.

Oro would collect her strength. They would not hold her down. Not when there was still something left for her to do.

If the wolf waited in this world, in this time, then she would be ready for him. He would not catch her scent again.

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Edit: Re-uploading with more detail, spelling mistakes checked and generally an updated plot.

Sorry for an inconvenience to the followers from before, but thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Firstly, I wanted to mention Levinixx for her kind and supportive feedback. It has really meant a lot to me, and encourages me to carry on with the writing even when I feel like its pointless.

Also, Sintar - thank you for the comment. I do hope you continue to enjoy this story.

It might seem like it's going nowhere at times, but there is method to my madness, in the end.

These mentions will probably go at the ends of chapters from now on, but I've wanted to say thanks for a while to these comments and wanted it to be in this next chapter.

Edit: The chapter 3 from before is now going to be an extended Chapter 4. It's not gone, just been shifted around.

Now, onwards...

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The Moon, Sun and Stars Above | Chp. 3

Phoenix POV

Air. She needed air.

Her head cleared the surface and she sucked in a wild breath which burnt as it went in. Fingers grasped frantically, scratching at stone until there was purchase.

The former inquisitor scrambled up the solid surface, blinking water from her eyes desperately. Hanging on with her one good arm while pushing with her legs.

There was blood, she could feel it coat the hand she tried to pull herself up with. Her nails had split with the attempt to keep herself from falling back into the abyss.

As soon as her torso rested on the stone, supporting most of her weight, remaining water burst from her lungs and she coughed violently.

When it passed, Phoenix had a pounding headache and a throat which felt as if she'd swallowed a dragons claw.

A itch in her mind. A healing spell. Cast it, like second nature.

...but it won't come. It fizzles and the magic prickles her skin.

It hasn't been right since the blast which took down the veil, or was the veil coming down...

Voices reach her ears as she tries to control the beast of magic within. It uncoils and released its wings tipped in fire, ever burning fire.

Elvhen. The language which rolled on her hearing was of the Ancient People.

Shouting. The People were angry. When weren't they? The ones which had awaken had either been too old to care far beyond their eternal sleep, or had been seething at the loss of their golden kingdom in the sky, and had been unleashed on her world with a cruel fury only immortals could comprehend.

Hands touched at her. Grabbed at her arms, and she leashed out with a cry of her own. A whip of golden magic streamed from her, knowing them back like the tail of the dragon.

Somehow she'd gained enough sense to sit on her knees, as they pressed into the hard ground. Her fingers sleeked blood at her side, and bandages hung from a phantom arm which was no longer there.

When she peeled her scorched eyes open, there was flames within them. It burned her vision and she bit back a scream.

There was something floating in front of her, close enough to touch. Red and flaring. A spirit...a spirit of rage. The flames echoed back in its black orbs where eyes should had been. Had it been a person...

No, Solas would have not liked that phrase, she thought automatically. He had been her teacher, her closest friends lover, and he had betrayed them...had lied to there faces for years. Only when he was tired of pretending to be the meek and humble apostate did he finally tell them that he played to destroy their world.

Fen'Harel. The Dread Wolf.

Yes, Rage was fitting.

A blurred hand reached for her head which she had no strength to prevent. The spirit touched her brow, and inside her skull she heard its voice. A gruntled sound.

Stay your anger. Time yet will come for it.

How?! She wanted to scream, but her mouth was sealed hurt through the pain. The pure volatile energy of her power would swallow her whole, and something which was not herself would be left.

Her skin burnt, though it was not the same as her internal flame. She hissed, and whipped her flaring eyes to a leash upon her arm. A strip of golden white magic which clammed down on her skin.

It was drawing her mana, her power from her. She threw her head back from the very wrong sensation, and was met with another of the whips as it latched onto her other arm. Another came around her neck and she blanched.

It felt as it had when she'd been torn through the pool to the very place she was then. Pulled in too many directions. Instead this time they were yanking at her magic, which rose from her skin like she were shedding it.

Help, please.

Will I die?

Her vision cleared enough for her to see there was a circle of people around her. Armoured and hooded, they were the first line of defence with others behind them. Injured people, who were being tended from the backlash of her lack of control.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Guilt washed over her. Hurting people was all she had done for years, and it had marked her far deeper than any blade could reach. She didn't want to cause anymore suffering.

A voice. It reached her through the haze of her flaming aura, the humming of the ropes around her limbs and the swirling mess of spirit which stood at her front.

A man, shouting over the chaos. When she turned her head slowly, moving against the tightness at her throat, she was able to make out a stark white robe, and patted hair over a shoulder. Deep green on his face...

The weight of all the magical power combined crushed her gradually. Her back bowed, and she ended up with her forehead on the stone. If she clenched her teeth any harder they would all break.

The pressure of the foreign magic drew faster, and she was able to feel the beast returning to its cage. If they continued to drain her, then it would also take her life.

With her head down, and her limbs bound, Phoenix wondered if it would all indeed come to her death.

Oro...Oro needed her... But it was futile. She could fight no longer.

The Spirit spoke. Though not inside her head this time. Even Cole had not had that ability.

The whips which reminded her of snake bites, a strong jaw latched onto her skin, seemed to take less of her magic then. It trickled out of her, instead of rushed like the dam in Crestwood.

When they left her skin, she felt them retreat only numbly. Her whole body slumped to the side, and she found her eyes - though sore - were trying to dip closed.

She must remain aware. They were still her enemies and she could not allow them to take advantage of her weakened state.

A rustle of cloth to her sensitive ears, and an imagine of white robes neared her head where it lolled on the stone ground. Her gaze lifted up and she could taste the magic from him, all around them. Tendrils of white hair came from a knotted string at his waist where a thick plat hung.

His face. She knew that face. The golden eyes settled under harsh lines. Forest green Vallaslin of Mythal's - the same as Oro had worn before Solas had taken it. Thinned lips which clamped in a tight line.

His head was bare from a hood, and she could see the golden bars and cuffs decorating his Elvhen ears.

"Abelas," she croaked. Even the single word which was more a broken sound tore at her throat.

His expression changed. She could not read it, and his was only a slight shift as her eyes shut, and the world vanished from beneath her.

...

Anger.

Burning.

Boiling.

\- What?

The words repeated inside her head.

Anger. Burning. Boiling.

\- No, stop that. She demanded. Those emotions only lead to destruction.

Yes, destruction. Those who hurt. Those who kill. Those who took your heart.

Anguish chocked her thoughts, and fire spread in her chest cavity.

Cullen... He had...he had...

He had died for her. A blade, through his stomach.

A scream rose in her, and she did not think it would ever stop.

Yes, anger. Burning. Boiling. Let it free.

For an instant, she thought of doing just that...but an imagine, a memory...

Men in a clearing. They had been her friends...no, they had betrayed her. Come to take her. The fire, Maker the fire. It had spread, burnt the forest which she had loved. The blade, the blade he used to cut her face had been heated till it glowed scorching orange.

Their cries. Maker, that awful haunting sound of the cries as their skin...

Only corpses remained.

That was what her destruction wrought.

No, she was stronger than that. Cullen, he had taught her that. She had given him hope that magic was not poison. That if their children were to inherit the gift, they would be trained, and loved and they would not turn into abominations.

\- what are you? He yelled, into the endless darkness.

When she looked around, she realised she was stood in it. Her feet hovering on an invisible surface.

A movement of light. She spun, and was faced with the spirit from before. With its churning insides of red, amber and gold it looked more like a demon.

Fury. It said, into her head.

I am Fury. Just as you are.

...

When she woke, it was with a start. Her eyes shot open, and her heart pounded as if she'd just naturally missed a slash from a great-sword during battle which should have taken her head from her.

The room was lit by a cold moonlight, and her body had been placed under a blanket upon a double bed. Her shoulders shifted as she tried to see herself. Still clothed, that was a weigh of her mind.

The bed sheets were smooth, and cold to the touch. A silky grey which almost looked black in the shadows. There was a silver embroidery along the edges which was a theme which appeared to fit the entire room. The curtains throws were much the same as they brushed the floor. A window a clear class was shaded by a willowy tree outside. There was a chair, also dark in colour; along with a desk and wardrobe that were made of grey wood.

It made the colour of the entire room look muted, but then also came alive when the moonbeam touched it. As if it were covered in silver dust.

She blinked. There was no one else in the room. It was too strange a place to be anywhere but the time she had fallen to.

A part of her suck as her situation settled in.

Her bones ached, and her skin felt odd upon them. It took some effort to get her hand beneath her, for her to shuffle up into a sitting position. Once there, and she was sure she wouldn't throw up as her head spun, she looked down to see patches of pink on her arm and felt them on her chest, legs and neck.

Burns. From the inside.

They had been treated however...

There was a noise from the hallway, and her head snapped up to see a closed door to her right.

Phoenix threw the bed cover off, and swung her legs out from under the encumbered weight. The floor was like stepping on ice, as she had done of that day the Temple of Ashes had been reduced to cinder.

It echoed in the soles of her feet as she rose and raised an arm to hang off one of the posters which were at the end of the bed.

Her energy was completely sapped. She needed food, potions to revive herself. There was no telling what her lack of control or the foreign magic had left behind.

The door opened a crack, and then suddenly there were two guards in the room. She pulled her head back, as if they'd brandish their weapons at her throat as so many had down before. Instead they kept near the doorway, and eyed her.

"Lay back down," one ordered, and her grip of the bed post tightened.

"That was an order, Lower!" The other snapped, when it was clear she wouldn't do as told.

They were wearing sentinel gear! That's right, she'd seen...

Phoenix gritted her teeth, but was too fearful to reach into her pool of magic. Partly because if she used anymore, it could kill her, and also because she was afraid the beast would unravel again.

"That will not be necessary," came another voice from the hall way. One she recognised.

Abelas stepped through the cap in the guards. He was still wearing the robes which turned more white in the moonlight streaming in to her left side, in front of him.

"Wait outside," he told the others, and they reluctantly lowered their weapons after shooting sharp looks at her. Both returned to the hallway, and closed the door behind them.

Phoenix felt her legs shake from the exertion of standing, and so she had to sink to the end of the bed for rest-bite.

He viewed her from just inside the room, his hands crossed over his front - only his fingers pointed out from beneath the long sleeves of his robes.

He took her in, and she waited for him to speak. He had a look about him, one which promised he'd find out the answers he wanted from her. She'd seen the same look on him when they'd met at the Well of Sorrows. He would not back down until he discovered who she was, and what she was doing there.

But what to say...

"You suffered substantial damage during your...break of control," he told her, and he stepped further into the room. His face turned to the window for a moment, and she saw the high cheek bones cast shadows upon his face.

"The damage was healed. The burns treated to prevent festering. Let it be known that the people of Mythal do not mistreat those who come to us and seek aid." He paused a moment, and turned back to her. She saw the anger simmer under the platonic expression.

"Even if said guest wounds seven of the faithful, and scorches the stone of the garden courtyard."

She swallowed. "I am sorry," she started, her voice was brittle - her throat still dry even with healing. Perhaps he could not tell her strange accent this way, which would be for the better.

He kept her in his gaze for a moment, silent, and then he moved across the room. He went to the desk where a platter had been laid out. Fruit and a jug of water with one cup. He lifted the jug, and poured crystalline looking water into the glass before placing it back down. His actions all very steady and sure, as he lifted the cup and brought it over to her.

Abelas lifted the cuff with his other hand as he outstretched the water for her to take.

Phoenix looked from his face, to the offer of soothing her throat. She swallowed again, and tentatively reached out.

They were both carful not to touch one another. She because she needed to be careful, he because of the old Elvhen culture to not touch people who weren't in high esteem and because he mostly had a distaste for her and her actions.

Solas hadn't liked to be touched, in the beginning. It had been rare for her to see Oro and him exchange more than a fleeting brush of arms in public. Not that she was saying that was a bad thing, but she couldn't be sure what unwanted physical contact would mean here - what the punishment was.

She hesitated as she raised it to her face, and tried not to sniff for anything which could be hidden in it. So for they had been accommodating, and she did not wish to give them reason to punish her actions.

His expression told her that he would be offended if she asked if there was anything in it, or refused to drink when she so obviously needed it.

Abelas watched her movements closely as she brought the glass up to her lips and drank the whole contents of it. The water slipped down and eased some of the soreness.

When she lowered the cup, he gestured for her to give it back. They were careful not to touch again, and he returned to the desk.

"Would you like another?" He asked, and she could tell he was doing his duty - to serve another of his people, who he thought was his people, even though he was displeased with it.

Empathy flooded her. He had been a slave to Mythal. He had severed, but in the end, it had still been another person bound to a service.

Even centuries down the line, he still had not shirked his duty - even when there was nothing left.

She had not met him on the battlefield. Had not even seem him since he'd left the Well of Sorrows behind.

Had he fought? Joined Solas?

"No," her voice was still just a whisper as she tried to remember the words which were Dalish, and yet not - they were fleshed out more. "Thank you."

He replaced the class, and turned back to her. His robes shifted as he moved closer to stand before her. "Now," he eyed her from his raised height. "You will tell me who you are, and how it is that you ended up here - when the Eluvian's were closed."

Shit. They were? Did he mean permanently?

Her face paled, even more than it already was in her weakened state, and he took it for panic - which what it partly was.

"You will not leave this room until you have assured me of these things," he told her, and his deep green eyes held that promise again.

Phoenix steeled herself to calm, and clasped her hand into a fist. His eyes travelled to it, then the lack of the other, and back to her face.

"You will also tell me who did this to you, and why you are not with your Master."

Her heartbeat slowed in her chest from the strain. He believed her a slave? Of course, she wore the markings of June...

She swallowed once more.

And her body, how could she explain that? I stumbled upon a plan cooked up by an ancient Tevinter Magister, and I happened to receive a mark from the Dread Wolf's focai in the process which eventually led to it nearly killing me - then it's original owner returned two years later to remove it, and thus my left arm with it?

All those things could still happen...as it dawned on her, she felt both a burst of foolish hope and dread.

If she slept, like the ancient elves did, could she find Cullen again? Or would it mess time completely if there was another one of her out there?

She couldn't know, and she shook her head.

If they had another chance, could they stop Solas this time?

"You do not wish to talk?" Abelas cut through her heights, and she looked up to see a harshness to his somber eyes.

Her lips thinned. She didn't...

"Very well," he span of his heels, and headed for the door. Part of her wanted to jump up and tell him to wait, but the other was still to shocked to move.

"I will return later," he told her, without looking over his shoulder. "For your sake, I hope that you have recovered enough to tell me what I wish to know."

With that, he left. The door sealed shut without even a bang, and somehow that was even worse.

Phoenix sat silently upon the strange bed, in a time which was not her own for long minutes. Then she dropped her head into her hand, closed her eyes and wished for endless silence to her thoughts.

()

Finally finished this chapter. Worked really hard on it.

At the end, I feel as if Phoenix wouldn't rush to speak when there was so much going on in her head. She wouldn't know what to say, and she certainly wouldn't just blurt it all out. Her experiences have made her cynical, especially because of her situation.

Hope it seemed realistic because of that - Abelas will had to return again for more answers, if he gets any at all.

It's early in the morning so there might be come mistakes but I really want to upload. Will check over soon.


	4. Chapter 4

The Moon, Sun and Stars Above | Chp. 4

Oro POV

With her head in her hands, Oro tried to ignore the aches and pains in her body: the cuts that weren't fully healed, especially the blade wound she'd taken to the armpit. Her right ear was sore, the cartilage inside felt raw when anything even so much as brushed it.

There was a hum. She sensed it in the room around her, and from the wall at her back. There was a pop which resonated in her ears, and she looked up to see the Spirit of Sorrow. The great mass of swirling green that reminded her too much of the fade. As much as she had enjoyed the company of spirits, she had never liked the idea of the fade - the demons waiting for a moment of weakness, even from the most powerful of Dalish mages could fall prey. Even if it had been one of their 'Gods' which had created it, they were no more safe from twisting the purpose of a spirit.

Oro had avoided speaking, or even looking at spirits until both Solas and Dorian had perked her mind - the spirits had sought her out after that, as if sensing they were allowed to approach.

"What do you want?" She asked the spirit, her tone harsher and more rude than it should have been. It had done nothing to her.

In her moment of forgetfulness, she had spoken in Common. Her eyes snapped up to the spirit, who just wavered there watching her.

"You fret over that language, and it brings you pain. Why is this?"

When it spoke, it did so in ancient elvish. Perhaps it could grasp things from her mind, like parts of Common but not enough to understand it fully.

"I thought you could get in my head to see that," she gave a smirk which didn't meet her damaged eyes.

"I can only see so much. It must stem from your sorrow to allow me to sense it. Just like the one you know as Cole, and the hurts."

Her whole life could be linked somewhat to her sorrow, her pain, so she was surprised it couldn't see an awful damn lot.

She huffed out a breath and closed her eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"In the time before - spirits made you feel calmer, more whole?"

Oro stared at the green spectral. "You might be right," she agreed.

When she was alone, she spent too much time dwelling on the past. Of her time in the clutches of slavers. It was worse at night. That was why she would spend as much time in the Tavern as possible.

Rocky had even taught her how to make explosives, which no one had appreciated them playing with inside the building. Varric thought it was hilarious, and said she was giving him perfect fodder for his books. The Inquisitors friend makes explosives to blow up the Herald's enemies!

When the time came when she finally had to be alone, and hadn't been able to drink because of a mission - she had hated those times. The spirits had eventually lessened those nights where she was too scared to close her eyes for what her brain would create to torture her.

It was wisps at first. Small, curious spirits who she would watch in silence. Then the more intent would come: Curiosity and learning. Valour had come to shout at her most of the time, but it was amusing non the less. He had reminded her of an old solider who talked about his battle days - or perhaps that's just what the fade made her see.

"If you would, could you simply stay... Here?" She asked, disliking to ask anything of the spirit. Even the ones she had called upon in battle had made her feel bad. Oro didn't want control over anyone, not in any shape or form. She hoped the spirits would come of their own accord, and many did for they had sensed her in the fade before.

"I am sorrow, as are you," was its only answer as he hovered closer. Still, the odd sensation of having it near in the flesh was oddly smoothing. She wasn't alone, for now. Oro placed her head on her arms and closed her eyes.

...

The spirits voice woke her from her fitful rest. She opened her eyes to find it close to her face, shining in her eyes which sometimes struggled to see clearly because of the scars which lined her eyes.

"There are visitors," it told her, buzzing slightly. "I cannot be seen here with you. It will only make things worse."

Oro narrowed her eyes a little, needing to come fully awake. But she nodded, "Go then."

The spirit hesitated but soon moved over her head and back out through the wall. However it was that it did that.

The healers came in force. It would have been quite humorous, had she not been as tense as a bow and ready to defend herself against ones who had drugged her to keep her under for an unknown amount of time.

A guard entered first, not one of the two from before. This man was bulkier, with brown hair and eyes. The helmet obscured most of his blood writing; but she did see a cleft lip.

As her eyes landed on it, his face darkened. She could tell, even from the small portion available to see. Such a talent had come from her time talking to Templars, Wardens and Commander Cullen when he'd worn his Lion mask...

Her heart twisted violently in her chest, and her head bowed downwards. Phoenix had adored that helmet, had even put in on a time or two. It was gossip which had been on everyone's lips. The inquisitor and her Commander. The two had been hopelessly in love, and hadn't cared for the rumours.

The guard stalked to the side of the room, by the only window which was made of some type of carved, thick glass which was hard to see through and tinted deep blue. In a burst of anger, she'd risen to find a latch or a way to open it; there had been none and that strength had soon depleted.

She doubt if would break either, if they had locked the room and magically made it another prison.

Not that she could go anywhere if she did succeed in opening a way to wherever the window lead.

There were five healers in total, and Oro found herself leant back with a fully fletched sneer on her face.

The leader approached. The woman from before, with the Herbs...she eyed the woman's person but saw none on her. They could just have been hiding them.

"If you would answer, I would ask you questions-" the woman started, hard eyes steady on her.

Oro waved a hand in the air. "Ask away," she replied after a moment of thought. If knowing their language had given them pause to simply hunting her like a wild pig, then she ought to let them know that yes, indeed she did know it. Even if it was rusty.

The healers jittered, and wore expressions of a wide variety; fear, curiosity, distaste. She'd seen them all before.

"Do you know what has been done to you?" The healer pushed, as if it were an obvious thing.

"You will have to be more specific."

"You do not feel, as the People do, and you possess no magic." It still seemed to unsettle the woman greatly. "And your words...they are not fluent."

She did not understand this no magic talk. She processed magic, as much as she tried to keep it suppressed until she needed it but...thinking about it, she hadn't used it since shed arrived. Almost as if it were dormant.

"I was born this way," Oro shrugged, bluffing it out. "And there is nothing wrong with me."

The healers face twisted. "There must be, for even the lowest Lower owns magic, and can connect with the Dreaming."

Oro shrugged again. "I am not of the People, as the Spirit of Sorrow told you."

"That is...impossible. What are you, then?"

She thought on that. If she told the woman that she was not of their world, would she have her killed, seemingly mentally unstable by the other healers assessments, or would she go and tell the others which would speed up her time locked away?

It was a tough choice, but in the end she still lacked the ability to sustain much self - preservation.

"I am not of your world." It was not entirely a lie, or the full truth.

That stilled the healers into silence, and they all looked at one another with knitted brows before turning in union to the head healer.

"You understand what you are saying?" The healer asked, in one last ditch attempt to make sense of her. What did she expect her to say? No, I was joking - I'm not an oddity among a people who have never known the veil or a being with no magic?

"I am telling you the truth," Oro returned, sharply.

"Very well," the healer sighed heavily, then turned to the others. "We will take our leave now. The council will want to hear of this. There is nothing for us to do here."

"We could use the Stones again," a young looking man said, eyeing her as if she were a quest which would get him known for discovering.

"No," the healer shook her head. "The...girl, insists there is nothing amiss with her. The Stones have already confirmed all they can."

The healers filtered out then, and the healer looked back to her again. Oro lifted her face, and didn't blanch. The guard followed the woman out, but not before he'd given her a long look also.

The heavy door closed behind them. Oro didn't even bother getting up to check it was locked. They'd probably add more precautions after her revelations.

It took a few tense minutes of listening to see if they'd sounded the alarm before she looked down at her hands. Magic. She possessed it yes, but had often tried to keep it down in the deepest part of her. Could that be why they couldn't sense it? Like her emotions?

At times she had felt so different from others that magic on top of that was too much to bare.

As she concentrated on her hands, and slowly delved into that tight space she kept her magic, she felt a sudden shock up her arm and looked to see ice coating her fingers.

She clenched her hands quickly, brushing off the ice and breathed heavily. The magic was volatile, and best left is what she thought. That much was certain. Phoenix had lost control of her arcane sword during the battle - and her friend was better with magic than her.

Her heart beat deeply in her chest. Arlathan just might be the death of her yet.

...

The light in the room never seemed to lower, or lighten. It was disorientating - keeping her from knowing how long had passed. Was that deliberate? Or did the ancient elves keep the sky as they wanted it?

The spirit of Sorrow did not return.

It took some time and a lot of persuasion on her part, to get herself to slid back up the wall and stagger to the water basen.

Wouldn't do her no good to sit in the muck and blood. As much as she wanted to use it as a war paint, to keep the elves on their toes, it was making her feel sick.

And reminded her of the past battles.

Each was clear as day in her memory, as if the Fade was reflecting it all back at her in horrible detail.

Her fingers brushed her breast bones as she leant forward to collect the water in her palms and splash it along her face and neck.

There had once been a small purple crystal there, hung upon a necklace which Dorian had given her before he'd returned to Tevinter.

Loosing contact with people had made her nervous after Solas, and the Tervinter Mage had wanted to mess around with crystals anyway. In a way to reassure her that they wouldn't ever see one another again, he'd made a tiny Eluvian in a sense. Or more like the crystal Calpernia used, and Dagna drooled over.

She smiled, despite herself. The Mage had been one of her most unexpected, but closest friends. Oro couldn't even recall the amount of times she'd tapped the crystal just to hear his voice, his laugh. She had been so alone after the Inquisition had disbanded, after Solas had left the second time, leaving her holding Phoenix as he turned his back and went through the eluvian.

The crystal had been lost. Like all her other possessions. What she wouldn't give to feel it between her fingers once more. Even if...even if he would not be on the other side, it would still have been somewhat of a comfort in her situation, to have the better memories to slip into.

Her hands clenched on the basen, and it took her a moment to calm down and then clean the rest of her body. Her armour was ruined, the metal bent and some bits missing completely. Still, she cleaned that as best she could.

The room seemed cold, afterwards. The water had no heat, and the damp stains on her clothes settled into her skin as a chill. Her eyes roamed to the bed covers.

There was no way she would use them, or even get in the bed - she'd rather choke on the silk.

Instead she took to her corner again, and settled into a ball; her legs against her chest and arms tucked beneath that.

It was uncomfortable. Oro hated being cold - had always tried to keep her heavy warrior armour from being in the shallow lakes Phoenix like to walk straight through. Her friend, being a fire elemental, would always warm her up at the end of the day, when they set up camp.

It was ironic that she found Ice element most easy to control.

The fire wouldn't hurt her, not when Phoenix did not will it which meant Oro had been free to take its heat. Not a single worry that she would falter, and the fire would set her skin ablaze.

She did not trust the People's magic. Not as she had the mages of the Inquisition, or Hawke. Even if the woman had been a blood Mage. It had never been to take of others, she had used her own health in the process.

Oro tried to recall the good times. The Tavern in Skyhold where Solas had rarely ventured. It had hurt her feelings, sometimes, how he had not wanted to engage in the games of Wicked Grace, or even to simply sit with her near the fire.

Later she realised he had kept his distance for the very reason of them being less than people to him, tranquil, and bodies he would sacrifice in the end.

No, no. Enough of him.

She tried to focus on remembering her friends faces. Krem and Bull - the two of them had been thick as thieves, Varric liked to say.

The Warriors and herself had taken to eachother over training, where Iron bull would swap between hitting them with shields, and the side of his two handed blade. It had been bruising work, but the two had banded together and stuck with it.

The dragon in the Hinterlands had helped too. Oro had taken to using a staff which was more like a two handed blade. Hawke used one, and Fenris had later trained her further with it. She had almost been taken out by the dragons tail, having been surprised by the beast during their trip to the hinterlands and it was Bull that had yanked her out of the way with the collar of her coat.

She hadn't minded about him being from the Qun so much after that. She'd been wary of him till then.

Then they'd taken to sitting together when the drinks were served. They were easy to talk to, and never spoke of her being Elven in any bad way. Aside from Bull commenting on her 'big eyes'. Krem had been curious, sure, as Dalish hadn't had a good word to say on her clan but he had been generally interested in her tales.

Dorian had liked to joke that she had a thing for handsome, Tevinter men and that she would have to come visit some day.

As she drifted in and out of consciousness, a light sleep, she felt a sad smile creep on her lips.

If she tried hard enough, she could almost imagine the heat of the tavern hearth, and the sound of bulls laughter.

...

The door banged open, and she raised her head in time to see three guards enter. They gave her no warning as the golden rope appeared on her hands, tighter than the last time, and she was dragged to her feet by it.

She grunted, but didn't fight as she was pulled out of the room - guards surrounding her with their hands positioned to take their bows or blades at anytime.

It reminded her of the day she had gone to the conclave. Phoenix had set off days before, sent by the Keeper who feared her power. Oro had been beside herself with anger, and had took off after her friend against the keepers will.

She was meant to be the head hunter, but she had thrown it all alway to follow the first to a meeting of human mages and Templars. She'd been trudging through the snow beside the temple when the blast had hit.

It had shook the ground and taken her straight off her feet. Training be damned. After she'd collected the air in her lungs again, she'd headed straight into the mushroom of dust, barely any hesitation.

The seekers soldiers had found her then, finding it odd that she was heading in, and not away from the chaos. She had been retained then, and taken to a holding cell in one of the buildings along the route.

The Elven guards walked beside her with long strides that she had to hurry to keep up with. Their golden armour gleamed, and she could tell they made a conscious effort to stay at least arms length away from her at all times.

They rounded a corner to the familiar decorated wall, with a room full of people behind it.

Her footing almost faulted then, but the guard holding the rope did not let up. They stepped though the large doorway and into the hall.

When she saw the large black wolf stood by the bottom of the steps, she did stop immediately and thus was yanked off her feet. Her knees connected with the stone floor and her elbows cracked loudly. The sound splintered the air, and only then did the guard stop to stare.

She gritted her teeth against the cry which wanted to rip from her lips.

"Is that anyway to treat a guest?" Came a voice, one which she had heard before, if only slightly different.

Flemmeth.

No...Mythal.

The pain erupted through the points of contact, setting her nerves on fire and travelling all throughout her body. Her boots were not high enough to have kept her skin from smacking against the hard surface.

Beads of sweat found their way onto her neck, and her eyes watered. When the guards realised she would walk no more, they parted to allow her to see that the throne was occupied.

A woman dressed in fine golden threads, beneath sharp silver amour. Hair the colour of the sun ran down over her shoulders like the trickle of a stream, and cascaded down over the seat of the throne. Molten yellow eyes stared back at her.

The God was breathtaking, but that was wasn't what drew and kept her gaze.

The wolf was the size of a Fereldan horse. His fur a dark black with a sheen of grey. The eyes - they were not red, or pulsing, they were simply dark from the distance. She wondered, for a brief moment, if it could even be the same one.

"If it can't stand, then at least help it forward. I am sure it will not bite."

One of the guards moved to do his ladies bidding, and she recognised it as the one who had the scarred upper lip. It had stuck out for her, not because of what it was, but because the spell caster had seemed so at adds with her not healing her scars, and no one else seemed to carry any, if but very small ones.

It almost made him normal, as if he could have been a Dalish and not an imposing, tall case of perfection. She shifted her eyes, not to stare and be rude, and so she was half lifted, half hauled to the bottom step once more.

The skin on her knees and elbows were broken and bloody. The shock still travelled up her limbs, and she wasn't sure if anything was broken. So she was left to lift her head from where she sat to a God who's death brought about the end of her world.

The guards moved away, but remained close by. She did her best not to look at the wolf, as much as its gaze on her made her skin trickle - it was an impossible situation, meeting the one she loved as a younger wolf, who technically had not committed the crimes of the one she knew.

The silver haired speaker was beside the throne, on the same level as her. While the wolf lounged upon the steps, the closest to the Goddess.

Mythal levelled her with a look which she could almost imagine belonged to Flemmeth. An echo of what to come, perhaps. When the fragments of the God found their way into a mortal Mage.

"My healer tells me some distressing things of you, strange thing," the woman began, and her voice commanded the room. It was after all, hers.

"I have it on good word that you insist you are from another world, is that correct?"

The room erupted into mutters, but fell silent instantly as soon as the Goddess raised her hand.

"That is correct," Oro spoke up, her voice cracked and thick from pain. It simmered just below the surface.

"Ah," the Goddness smiled, and it was painfully blinding. "So it does indeed know the speech of the People."

Oro's stomach sank, dropping out to the floor below. She had always been wary of Flemmeth, but now she was defiantly sure she'd been picked up by an eagles jaws and would be gutted by a sharp beak.

Then there was the wolf...


End file.
